


The Smell of Desperation

by vivisextion



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Hawke (Dragon Age), Bruises, Dirty Talk, Dom Fenris (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, Fenris discovers the magic of friendship, Fenris kicks ass, Hawke is a screamer in bed, Hawke swoons, Isabela writes friend-fiction, Love Bites, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Spanking, Thirsty ass bottom Hawke, Top Fenris (Dragon Age), Wee bit of possessive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Hawke gets his butt groped in the Hanged Man. Fenris doesn't take too kindly to this. In the words of a blonde apostate, "you've messed with the wrong mage"... because that mage's elf boyfriend came here to drink ale and kick ass, and he's all out of ale.





	The Smell of Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for my bro Shaun who wanted top/dom Fenris. "That'll be a tough one," I thought. I was so wrong.
> 
> Title is named after what Fenris says about the Hanged Man - "sour ale, vomit, and the smell of desperation".

“One more for the dwarf!” crowed Varric. Isabela let out a long string of sailor’s curses that would put hairs on anyone’s chest, while Anders slammed his terrible hand of cards onto the tavern table in exasperation. Merrill, bless her, was wearing her ‘kicked puppy’ expression. Hawke laughed, even though he’d lost.

They’d just returned from the Bone Pit, and were attempting to forget that unpleasant excursion with copious amounts of ale and drunken bouts of Wicked Grace. And Varric had won. Again.

“All right. I’m buying the next round,” Hawke declared, standing, wobbling a little.

“I’ll come with you.” Fenris stood as well. “You’ll spill the ale everywhere if I don’t.”

Hawke let out another deep belly laugh, patting Fenris on the shoulder, as they made their way towards the bar.

“Corff, my good man!” Hawke shouted, possibly a little louder than necessary. “Ale for my friends, please, and put it on my tab.”

They waited for the bartender to pull seven pints, while Hawke leaned on the bar for support, a little tipsy. Fenris stood by his side, taking one of the tankards and downing half of it. Gambling was thirsty work. As he drank, he cast a glance back at their little group.

It was nice to be included. He’d never really had the luxury of friends before this, and Fenris was fast becoming accustomed to them. Merrill, in particular, was growing on him like a deep mushroom. He might even, under extreme duress, have admitted that he was begrudgingly fond of them, with the exception of one blonde mage. He would never see eye to eye with Anders, would never become bosom buddies with him. But they had been trying this new thing called ‘being civil to each other’, at Hawke’s behest. It had been working, for now.

Distracted as he was, he barely paid attention to the burly thug that had come to stand on Hawke’s other side. He was broader than Hawke even, bulging with oversized muscles. He could have been part-ogre, or all-Qunari.

So it came as a shock, when he heard a resounding SMACK out of nowhere. Hawke jumped, eyes wide as saucers.

“Nice arse, mage.”

Fenris whipped his head round. Hawke was clutching his bottom with one hand, and the man was walking away, with a stupid grin on his face. It didn’t take much to deduce what had happened.

“Really?” Hawke groaned, rolling his eyes at the man. But then, to Fenris’ shock, the mage went back to his drink, and did not seem to be pursuing the matter at all.

“You’re not going to do anything about that?” Fenris demanded. “He just assaulted you!”

“It’s not worth it.” Hawke shrugged.

Hawke may as well have been speaking Orlesian, because Fenris wasn’t understanding anything the mage was saying.

“What do you mean it’s not worth it? That man just… violated your honour!”

Hawke was starting to shift uncomfortably. “Honestly, it’s not that bad. It could have been worse.”

It boggled Fenris’ mind. If anyone had done that to him, they’d be on the floor, mouth full of blood and swallowing their own teeth.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” hissed the elf. “He deserves it!”

“Look, Fenris…” sighed Hawke. “Us mages, we get this sometimes. People assault us because they think they can get away with it, and they do. If a mage reports something like that to the guards, they don’t take it seriously. Worse, they might just take us straight to the templars. We can’t win.” The mage looked at him with eyes full of resignation.

“That is ridiculous,” argued Fenris. “That is unacceptable.”

“That’s life if you’re a mage.” Hawke’s shoulders were slumped in defeat. “And I’m technically an apostate, like Anders. We can’t attract unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Right,” seethed the elf, bristling with rage. “Hold my ale.”

“Fenris, what are you -”

Fenris shoved his tankard at Hawke, who clutched it reflexively, and marched over to where the brute was sitting alone, draining his pint. He tapped the man on the shoulders.

“I believe you owe my friend an apology,” the elf growled, staring daggers at him.

The man stood, drawing himself up to full height. Luckily, Fenris was tall for an elf. The sound of his chair scraping back as he rose from it caused every conversation in the tavern to screech to a halt. Even the bards had stopped playing their instruments. Hawke’s friends looked over in concern.

“Oh I do, do I?” he sniggered. “Tell him to come sit on my lap, and I’ll consider it. Better yet, he ought to come sit on my -”

A split second later, Fenris’ fist had landed square on the man’s jaw.

It took a few moments for the thug to register what had just happened to his face, but when he did, he shouted, “You’re going to pay for that!”

“Come and face me!” snapped Fenris, seeing red, bloody red. This animal would pay for what he’d done to Hawke. He would make sure of it.

The oaf lunged toward him. The punch he threw was slow and heavy, just like the man himself. It was child’s play for the elf, a trained warrior, to dodge it.

“Fenris!” cried Hawke, flustered. “Leave it, it’s not worth it!”

Contrary to popular belief, fights were quite good for tavern business. It livened things up a little, made people loose with their coin. A crowd of onlookers began to gather - free entertainment was free entertainment, after all. The bards, sensing an opportunity, struck up a rousing melody, playing loud and fast, providing the perfect musical accompaniment for the tavern brawl. Varric, sensing an opportunity, shouted, “Five sovereigns on the skinny elf!”

“Rubbish,” yelled another patron. “I could break him over my knee! Five sovereigns on the ogre!”

“We should help him!” cried Merrill. “Varric, do something!”

“That’s not how duels work, Daisy!” Varric replied, eagerly collecting bets from the tavern’s customers. “Besides, I am doing something! I’m making money!”

Meanwhile, Isabela had climbed onto a table for a better view. Every patron in there knew better than to look up her skirt.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” she chanted, and soon, the entire crowd had picked it up.

“What’s the matter? Your boyfriend’s pet elf has to fight his battles for him?” the bully asked, still smirking. Fenris would wipe it off his face if it was the last thing he did.

He charged towards the larger man, throwing his entire weight into it. The crowd was cheering as Fenris and the brute wrestled with each other, caught in a headlock. In one swift, thunderous motion, the elf grabbed the man by the head and dragged it down as he slammed his knee upward, right into the man’s face. There was a satisfying crunch, and the bully staggered back, blood flowing from his broken nose. The onlookers worked themselves into a frenzy, the musicians playing louder and faster as the fight carried on.

“First blood! And the crowd goes wild!” yelled Varric. “It’s a good thing Aveline’s working tonight!”

Merrill, who had joined Isabela up on her table, shouted, “Lick his arse, Fenris!”

“Kick, Kitten, not lick! Kick his arse!”

“Oh right, sorry!”

Still watching from the bar, Hawke was staring at the chaos, entranced. Fenris was actually beating up a stranger twice his size to defend his honour. A passer-by might have been able to tread on his jaw, as his mouth had dropped in shock. Hawke gaped, as Fenris rammed his fist into the man’s shattered nose, just to drive his point home.

Fenris wasn’t even using his lyrium abilities, since his markings had not lit up once. They’d all known that Fenris was a lot stronger than he looked, but Andraste help him, what he wouldn’t give to have the elf shove him against a wall, or pin him to the floor. He did so love a man who could throw him around like a sack of potatoes.

A smug grin like a skull split the elf’s face, as Fenris watched his opponent stumble back, yelling in pain. Hawke bit his lip. Maker’s breath, had he ever seen anything more arousing? It was a lucky thing he was wearing armour, because it was starting to feel quite tight in his breeches.

“Is that the best you can do?” Fenris roared at the thug.

Enraged, the ogre swung a clumsy right hook at Fenris. It sailed past Fenris’ head, missing its target as the elf evaded him. It left his opponent wide open, and he saw the man falter. Fenris struck, quick as a viper. A roundhouse kick caught the side of his opponent’s face, dislocating his jaw with a sickening crack that made everyone watching wince.

 _This is the best day of my life,_ Hawke thought to himself, clutching the bar counter for support, as his knees went weak. The tightness in his breeches was getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

The brute, stunned, blinded by pain, threw a wild haymaker. He never saw the second kick to his back of his head coming. The blow knocked him clean out, and he fell to the floor like a mighty oak, as a cloud of dust rose around him.

Fenris glared at him. “Rest and be grateful,” he muttered, then spat on his opponent’s prone form.

The crowd erupted into mad, triumphant whooping on the elf’s behalf, even Anders. Somewhere in the middle of it, Varric was shouting, “Come on now, pay up!”. Somewhere behind it, Hawke moaned aloud, but no one heard it over the noise.

Isabela sidled over to the bards, tossing them a couple of gold coins. They caught it with grateful hands. “Nice work, gentlemen,” she called, with a wink, before settling back at their table.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” Varric said, as he counted his winnings with a gleeful expression, like a child on Satinalia. “Messing with Fenris is suicidal.”

“You sure it isn’t ‘always bet on the crazy elf in a bar fight’?” chuckled Isabela.

Meanwhile, people were clapping Fenris on the back as he returned to the bar, scowling. He snatched his tankard back from Hawke, whose mouth hadn’t closed properly since the fight started, and downed the rest of his drink. He slammed it back onto the counter, then immediately regretted it. The adrenaline was still singing in his nerves, making his fingers itch and his teeth ache for more violence.

“I’m sorry,” he ground out, his voice as coarse as gravel.

“You’re… you’re sorry?” stuttered Hawke, who had, quite honestly, taken leave of his senses, and was beginning to like it.

“No, actually, I’m not,” Fenris ranted, still fuming. “He never should have touched you. That sorry excuse for sentience deserved everything I gave to him. And if anyone else were to violate you like that again, they can expect the same treatment!”

He’d done it. Any minute now, Hawke was going to tell him that he didn’t want a companion who would resort to violence like that, and order him to leave their party. Surely, the man would have lost all respect for him, given the way he’d acted back there. Fenris had tried so hard to prove he was a man, not an attack dog, not a mindless weapon. Now, he’d gone and proved his old master right. He stared at the floor, unable to meet Hawke’s gaze, as shame suffused his entire being.

Hawke took Fenris firmly by the shoulders, and, as serious as a mugging in Darktown, said, “Take me now”.

The elf’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Fenris,” Hawke spoke, his every word measured and careful, “At this very moment, I would like nothing more than for you to bend me over and take me. Roughly. From behind.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t care how. Just take me.”

Fenris swallowed. “Stop… stop joking, Hawke.”

“Do I _look_ like I’m joking, Fenris?” the mage insisted. The expression on Hawke’s face was a daring mix of lust and determination. “Please. For the love of Andraste. _Fuck. Me._ ”

Fenris blinked, blindsided by the admission, but also by the way Hawke’s full lips had curled around those last two words.

“Now?”

“At your earliest convenience.” Hawke nodded. “But yes, preferably, right now.”

“Ridiculous,” Fenris muttered under his breath. “Where would we even -”

Hawke held up a finger to stop him. Then, he crossed the tavern to where Varric was enjoying his newfound wealth.

“Varric, can I -”

“Let me guess, you want to use my room,” Varric told him, not looking up from stuffing his winnings into his coin purse.

Hawke stared at him in shock. “How did you know?”

“Hawke, I’m your best friend. I know what you like.” The dwarf grinned as he tilted his head in the direction of a certain Tevinter elf. “I’m in a good mood. I just won a lot of money because of Broody, so I’m feeling kind.”

“Then you’ll let me borrow your room?” Hawke beamed.

“You can use my room, but you have to pay for it to be professionally cleaned later.”

“Deal.”

“ _And_ I want all the juicy details afterwards.”

“Fine.”

“ _And_ some of those details may or may not end up in the next installment of Hard in Hightown.”

“Alright, alright! Give me the key.”

“My palatial suite is your palatial suite, Hawke.” Varric smiled like a cat who’d just had a fat, juicy mouse walk straight into its mouth, as he dropped his room key in Hawke’s waiting hand. “Oil’s in the top drawer of the nightstand,” he purred. “Have fun, dear.”

“Varric, I love you, and I may even propose later,” Hawke declared, as he walked away from the table.

“No thank you,” Varric called. “Broody might take my head off!”

Hawke dashed back to where Fenris was still standing at the bar, brandishing the key to Varric’s room.

“I don’t believe you,” Fenris said, his face stern.

Hawke pressed the key into the elf’s hand. “Believe it.”

There was a heart-stopping moment, when Hawke thought the elf might just reject him, after all.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” snarled Fenris. “On your own head be it, Hawke.”

Fenris seized the mage by the collar, hauling him close for a deep, savage kiss, all teeth and no finesse, just a clash of mouths. Hawke moaned into it, all the same, kissing back just as fiercely.

Their companions watched as Fenris dragged Hawke away, in the direction of the dwarf’s room.

“I can’t believe you’d let them use your room,” Anders announced, his nose scrunched up in disgust as he imagined the aftermath.

“I can. That way he gets to brag about it later.” Isabela laughed. “I wish he’d asked to use mine.”

“Mine’s bigger,” Varric replied, before he could help himself.

“It’s not about the size!” she retorted, making the dwarf giggle. “It’s what you do with it.”

Merrill stared at the two of them. “Did I miss something dirty again?”

“Yes, Merrill,” Anders sighed. “Let’s go get our drinks. They’re still sitting at the bar.”

* * *

Fenris slammed Hawke’s entire body weight against the wall the second they entered Varric’s room. Hawke moaned, because he was getting exactly what he wanted. Fenris grabbed the mage’s wrists, shoving them against the wall above his head. The elf kissed with such violence, too, just the way he liked it. Pinned to a wall, Fenris’ firm thigh planted between his, his mouth being claimed so thoroughly… Hawke thought he might die of happiness, especially when Fenris began to apply that violence to his neck with his teeth and tongue, leaving vivid purple bruises on his neck. Hawke’s knees were actually in danger of buckling, but he bared his throat even more.

“Tell me this isn’t what you want, and I’ll stop,” murmured the elf. They were pressed so tightly together that Hawke could feel the elf’s arousal, too. His eyes widened. Fenris wanted this, wanted him. And Maker’s breath, he wanted Fenris so much too.

“If you stop any time soon, I’m going to be very cross,” he told Fenris, rolling his hips up to grind against the elf, just to drive his point home. Fenris bit back a groan.

“I have not lain with another for six whole years, Hawke,” Fenris growled in his ear. “I will not hold back. I cannot hold back.”

Hawke hadn’t been on the receiving end in quite a while, either. Given his size, most of his partners expected him to take the lead, but Hawke had such a weakness for a dominant bedmate who could take control and fuck him senseless.

“I don’t want you to,” Hawke insisted. “I want it rough. I want it mean. Spank me, hurt me, use me. Trust me, if I don’t like it, I’ll let you know.”

Fenris stared at him for a long moment. Then he jerked his head towards the bed.

“Strip,” ordered the elf.

“Mmmm, yes ser.” Hawke responded with a playful grin, only too happy to obey, giving Fenris a bit of a show. He dropped his clothing piece by piece, with his best come-hither eyes, backing away towards the bed. It worked. Fenris stared as though mesmerised, not taking his eyes off Hawke, who was now stretched out and naked on the bed, even as the elf tore his own armour off and tossed it behind him.

“No one’s ever called me that,” remarked the elf, the corners of his lips quirking up. The irony of it all.

“Well, get used to it, because I’m going to be screaming it a whole lot more tonight,” Hawke replied, smirking. Fenris was going to have fun wiping that off his face, too.

The oil was in the top drawer, like the dwarf had said.  _Good old Varric,_ the mage thought.

“Do you want me to prepare myself?” Hawke asked with a sly smile. “Ser?”

“Face down. On your knees,” demanded Fenris. “I want to see.”

Hawke scrambled to obey, head buried in a pillow as he drizzled oil onto his fingers. Fenris was kneeling behind him, watching his every move. It was a pity he couldn’t see the elf’s face, but he heard a sharp gasp leave Fenris as he sank the first finger into his tight hole. He let out a satisfied sigh, working it into himself.

“Beautiful,” he heard Fenris rumble, and his body tingled all over with the praise, even more so when he felt the elf’s warm hands stroke over his buttocks, squeezing hard. He arched his back more, shifting his knees apart, to give his lover a better view.

“Tell me, have you thought about this before?” Fenris asked, in a voice that brooked no argument.

“You have no idea,” muttered Hawke, pressing a second slick finger into himself with a soft moan. “The number of times I’ve gotten off, thinking about you plowing me until I couldn’t walk.”

“Dirty little mage,” Fenris chuckled darkly, and without warning, brought his hand down on Hawke’s rear, sharp and fast. Hawke let out a strangled groan, his hole clenching suddenly around his own fingers, his cock twitching with arousal. Maker, he was so hard.

“Please, Fenris,” moaned Hawke. “Oh, do it again, that felt amazing.”

“Gladly,” purred Fenris, and struck Hawke hard on his arse again, hard enough to leave an angry red mark. Hawke whimpered louder, fucking himself on his fingers now. He reached his other hand around to jerk off, when -

Crack! Hawke cried out, as Fenris gave his arse another sudden, tight slap.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” asked Fenris, in a low, dangerous voice.

“No, ser,” Hawke gasped. Andraste help him, this was incredible. Perhaps he could come just like this, cock untouched. He slipped a third finger inside himself, pushing his arse back to really give Fenris a show, his hole stretched open and bathed with oil, inside and out.

“Please, Fenris, I need you.”

“Do you now?” Fenris sneered, hands rubbing over Hawke’s arse, over the marks that were sure to be bruises tomorrow morning. Then, the elf drew back and welted him on the arse again, so hard that Hawke’s whole body jerked. Hawke wailed into the pillow.

“Take your fingers out and tell me how much you want this.”

Reluctantly, Hawke withdrew his fingers from his hole. They slid out easily, with an obscene noise. Not trusting himself to keep his hands off his cock, he clutched the pillow under his face instead, feeling quite exposed before Fenris’ gaze, with his arse in the air.

“Ever since I saw what you did to that man I’ve been hard for you,” Hawke whispered. His cock was dripping wet onto the bedcovers, which were beyond hope now. “All I could think about was you manhandling me into submission.”

“You like seeing me violent, do you?” Fenris asked, stroking his hands over Hawke’s back, just for the pleasure of touching him.

“I was a little frightened, and a _lot_ aroused,” answered Hawke, turning back to grin at his lover. Fenris had lost his shirt some time ago, but he was still wearing trousers, even if they were unlaced. Hawke had never seen him shirtless before. By Andraste, the elf was handsome, all lean muscle and graceful lines. Hawke felt the maddening urge to sink his teeth into Fenris’ bicep. He could see how hard the elf was too, like this, could see the outline of his erection, and it only made Hawke hungrier.

Fenris laughed. “You are a strange man, Hawke.”

“Is it so strange to want your cock buried as far as it can go inside me?” Hawke wiggled his hips, just to tempt the elf further. “Come on, Fenris. If you don’t fuck me now, I think I might actually go mad with lust.”

With a growl, the elf shoved him into the mattress further, seizing his wrists and pinning them down.

“Eager little slut,” Fenris snarled. “Beg for it.”

“Please, ser,” Hawke breathed. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

Fenris eased the head of his cock between those round, plump arsecheeks, and drove it in with a vicious thrust that made Hawke cry out.

“ _Venhedis,_ ” Fenris swore. It had been far too long. He’d nearly forgotten what this had felt like, and it was divine. Hawke was so tight, and every wonderful drag of friction was chipping away at his restraint. Hawke was writhing under him, moaning his name, and it only made Fenris fuck him harder.

“Oh, Maker, yes,” Hawke groaned. “You feel so thick, Fenris.”

It had been exactly like he’d wanted, like he’d needed. Him, helpless under Fenris as the elf pounded into his sweet spot, able to do nothing but take his cock, however Fenris wanted him to take it.

But then Fenris stopped, his cock still inside Hawke, and Hawke whined in frustration, trying to arch his hips back more, trying to fuck himself on Fenris’ cock. The elf slapped a hand down on Hawke’s arse again, right in the same bruised spot, making the mage howl and clench tight around his cock.

“Look how desperate you are for me,” Fenris murmured, his expression one of surprise and admiration, as he stroked a hand down Hawke’s back.

“Please, Fenris, I need you, don’t stop!” begged Hawke, and let out a cry of dismay as Fenris pulled out of him. The elf was looming over Hawke as he manhandled him onto his back, forcing his thighs wide apart as Fenris kneeled between them. Hawke pulled him down to kiss him hard, and Fenris could feel him moaning into the elf’s mouth, as he slipped his tongue against Hawke’s. Hawke was grinding his hips against Fenris’, their cocks sliding together for brief moments of sweet friction, as they traded harsh, intricate kisses.

Then Fenris tore his mouth away from Hawke’s, pinning the mage to the bed by his throat with one hand. “I want you on your back,” Fenris spat, “so I can see the look on your face when you come.”

Hawke whimpered. Maker’s breath, he was going to be jerking off that for _weeks._

“I want to come for you,” he pleaded. “I need you inside me, Fenris, please!”

Fenris granted his fervent wish, and Hawke cried out again when felt Fenris’ thick cock surge into him again, wrapping his legs tight around the elf.  Fenris fucked him roughly, hand still on his neck, the other clutching his thigh. Hawke’s hands had turned to claws, digging into the sheets, which he was in danger of ripping. He’d just have to pay Varric back later.

“Oh, Maker… Fuck me, Fenris, you feel so good,” cried Hawke, senseless with pleasure.

“Noisy little submissive, aren’t you?” Fenris asked in a dark, breathless murmur. He hadn’t expected Hawke to be quite so… vocal. “I like that.”

“Please, I’m so close, let me touch myself,” Hawke sobbed in desperation. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in his life, so hard it almost hurt, and if he didn’t come now he would lose his mind completely.

“Go on,” snarled Fenris, thrusting into Hawke with harsh, unforgiving strokes now. “Come on my cock. Come for me.”

Hawke wrapped his fingers around his cock, spreading his legs further apart as he stroked himself, hard and fast. He threw his head back, his back arching into a bow, as Fenris gripped his jaw in one strong hand, forcing his mouth open as he dragged Hawke into a brutal kiss. Hawke wailed into Fenris’ mouth as he came, so hard, painting his hand, his belly, his chest with come. Fenris swallowed every bit of that wail, then pulled back, and with a choked gasp that turned into a long, liquid moan, came deep inside Hawke, fucking them through their orgasms.

Fenris, gasping for breath, rested his head on Hawke’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the largest bruise on the mage’s neck before pulling out, making Hawke whimper. Fenris collapsed bonelessly beside his companion and sighed. His first orgasm in a long time had taken quite a lot out of him.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke panted, throwing an arm over his face. “That was… that was…”

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” breathed the elf, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes, having forgotten the common tongue completely just then.

“Why,” asked the mage, with a tinge of outrage in his voice, “have we never done that before?”

Fenris looked over at his companion. Hawke was beginning to have a charming collection of bruises, some of them high on his neck, where the others would see. Fenris was quite proud of himself.

“I did not know you had such... tastes.”

“Do I ever,” purred Hawke happily. “As you’ve no doubt discovered.”

They lay there like that, both of them trying to catch their breath, when the mage broke the silence.

“So. Six years. Without that.” Hawke let out a low whistle at the very thought of it. He didn’t think he’d be able to last six weeks. “That’s… difficult.”

“I… have never allowed anyone too close. I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone.” Fenris looked away, awkward. The words didn’t seem to want to come out right. “And then that bastard… I couldn’t stand to see that man touch you like that,” admitted the elf.

It was the most Hawke had ever heard Fenris say in one go. “Ooh. Someone’s a little possessive,” teased Hawke. “You, and only you, have earned the right to smack my arse like that.”

“I look forward to doing more of that, then.” Fenris chuckled, at ease once again. “Let’s not do it in Varric’s room next time, however.”

“Next time, eh?” Hawke rolled on top of Fenris with a lascivious grin, straddling his hips. “His bed doesn’t have a headboard you could wrap a chain around… but mine does.”

Fenris laughed out loud, and trailed a hand through Hawke’s messy, dark hair. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” said Hawke, still smirking, as he leaned down to kiss the elf, slow and dirty. Fenris kissed back lazily, hand still fisted in Hawke’s hair. After all, Varric had given them the room for the night, and they were going to make the most of it.

* * *

“ _‘The elf’s manhood strained against his leather breeches, like a wild stallion corralled against its will. The mage pounced - the smooth moves of a jungle cat - and locked his thighs around Fenris’ waist.’_ ” Varric looked impressed, as he shuffled the sheath of parchment the pirate had given him. “By the Stone, Rivaini, you work fast!”

Beside him, Merrill was bright red in the face, her hands clutched at her mouth. Beside Merrill, Anders was crying with laughter, face down on the tavern table.

Hawke frowned at his companions, as he came over with his drink. There was far too much conspiratorial giggling for his liking.

“What is that?”

“Nothing,” Isabela replied, trying her best to look innocent and failing miserably. Then she spotted the love-bites on the mage’s neck. “Andraste’s tits, Hawke, did you lose a wrestling match with an octopus?”

“Yes, well. You should have seen the octopus.” Hawke pressed a hand to his neck, laughing. “Anyway, what’ve you got there, Varric?”

“Isabela just thought she’d celebrate your love affair with a… written dedication,” Varric explained.

“Snitch!” cried Isabela, as Fenris snatched the parchment out of the dwarf’s hands.

“Hey! I was reading that,” Varric protested.

The elf’s green eyes scanned the page, growing wider with horror the more he read. “This is absolute bilge water,” Fenris declared, handing it to Hawke. “And you are a menace to society.”

Varric guffawed. “That’s going on the back cover!”

“Excuse me! I worked hard on that.” Isabela pouted. “It’s friend-fiction. I do it out of love.”

“ _‘Take me, Fenris,’ the mage cried, surrendering himself to pure, unbridled lust. ‘I cannot resist your brooding demeanour any longer!’_ ” Hawke read aloud, as his face turned the same colour as Merrill’s. “I will have you know I said no such thing!”

“What did you say, then?” Varric asked, pen at the ready. “For the record.”

“I’m not telling you now!” Hawke protested.

“You said you would, Hawke.” Varric wagged a finger at him. “Don’t make me invoke the brotherly code.”

“Later,” hissed the mage under his breath.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” The dwarf seemed appeased. “You know, elf, you’re great at bare-knuckle fighting. You ever think about doing that for money? I’m thinking of starting a club where people get together and duel. And then we could bet on them. Imagine the coin  we could make!”

If you looked carefully into Isabela’s eyes just then, you could see gold sovereigns dancing about in them. “We could call it Duel Club. We’d make it really exclusive. Only the best fighters in Kirkwall.”

“The first rule about Duel Club is you don’t talk about Duel Club,” Varric said. “What do you say, Broody? You in?”

“Only if the first match is you and me, dwarf,” deadpanned Fenris.

“Oh-ho! The broody elf tells a joke!” Varric chuckled. “Hawke’s rubbing off on you.”

“That’s not all he did last night,” Isabela added, with a seductive flutter of her lashes, before cackling madly. A second later, Merrill chimed in, in a fit of giggles.

“Ooh, I got that one!”

Anders was practically sobbing, as he raised his head weakly to wipe the tears from his face. “Please, stop. I can’t take any more of this.”

“That’s what he said!” Varric yelled, and they all began howling with laughter, falling all over each other. Fenris stared down at their companions as they rolled around, helpless with mirth.

“To think, Hawke, that you are friends with such idiots,” Fenris remarked, rolling his eyes so hard he thought he might sprain them.

“Hey, they’re your idiots too,” Hawke pointed out, smiling at them like a proud father, as he wound his arm around the elf’s waist.

Fenris looked back at his friends, listening to the sound of their laughter. Things did always seem to be livelier, with them around.

“I suppose they are,” Fenris conceded, allowing himself a small smile.


End file.
